Theatre Folk Like Us
by evitamockingbird
Summary: How and when did Mrs. Hughes find out that Mr. Carson had been on the stage? There are so many possible answers. I'll explore just a few of them here. Part of #unofficialdas7 challenge.
1. Anna and the Handbill

**One thing I've always wondered about is when Mrs. Hughes first found out that Mr. Carson had been on the stage. There are so many possible answers to that question, and I've decided to write a few of them. They won't be posted in any particular order. Enjoy!**

Mrs. Hughes made her way along the gallery, checking bedrooms as she moved toward the back stairs. When she reached Lady Sybil's room, the door was halfway open - one of the maids was probably finishing up in there. She went to step inside, but Anna came bustling out, nearly knocking the housekeeper down in her hurry.

Anna's eyes widened and she quickly hid something behind her back. "Mrs. Hughes! I'm very sorry. I should have been watching where I was going."

"That you should, but there's no harm done." Mrs. Hughes looked closely at the maid. "What is it that you're hiding behind your back?"

Anna tried not to look nervous, but she couldn't meet the housekeeper's eye. "Oh, it's nothing. Just some rubbish I found in Lady Sybil's room."

Mrs. Hughes tilted her head to one side and made it clear with one glance that she could tell Anna was lying. "Anna."

"I'll take care of it, Mrs. Hughes. Really, it's nothing."

The housekeeper said nothing, but held out her hand, palm up.

Anna was not ready to capitulate, but she didn't know how to keep her secret from her superior without getting into trouble. Mrs. Hughes was a kind woman, but she did not tolerate insubordination.

"Anna, if it's just rubbish, why are you trying so hard to hide it?"

"Because..."

"Because …?"

Anna said nothing.

Mrs. Hughes's voice was firm. "Anna, please give it to me now."

Anna's shoulders slumped as she reluctantly handed over the wrinkled piece of paper.

Mrs. Hughes noticed how distressed she looked. "Anna, whatever's the matter?"

"It's Mr. Carson. I shouldn't have…"

The housekeeper's eyebrows drew together. "Has this got something to do with Mr. Carson?" she wanted to know.

"Just don't say anything, Mrs. Hughes," Anna implored her. _"Please."_ And she hurried to the servants' stairs, leaving Mrs. Hughes a little baffled.

Mrs. Hughes slipped the paper into her pocket without looking at it. She had a feeling it was something she ought to read only when there was a closed door between her and the rest of the house. She knew it was right to take it from Anna - it was no good to have her girls keeping secrets - but she also knew her head housemaid wouldn't have hesitated so long to obey her order if there wasn't _something_ at stake.

It wasn't until later that day when Mrs. Hughes had a moment to herself that she took the paper from her pocket and indulged her curiosity. She sat down at her desk, unfolded it, and looked it over. It was a handbill advertising a show of some sort, with a list of a variety of performers. _Cheerful Charlies, Florie Flower, Claudet Emerson, Terrible Tillie, Small George._ Her brow wrinkled. _What on earth could this have to do with Mr. Carson?_ she wondered. She couldn't quite read the date, but the paper was obviously very old. Mrs. Hughes set it down on her desk and thought for a moment, before gasping and picking it up again. _No, it couldn't be._ She stared at the largest letters on the page. _Cheerful Charlies. Charles Carson._ Mrs. Hughes folded the handbill back up and tucked it away in her desk drawer. _No. It's impossible. I must be mad even to consider it._ She left her sitting room and went about her day. In spite of her initial thoughts on the matter, Mrs. Hughes could not shake the idea from her mind that Mr. Carson might have been one of the Cheerful Charlies.

Over the next few days, she began to think that her outlandish speculation might hold some truth, but she was still confused by the whole situation. Mr. Carson was clearly not himself, which might indicate that he had been shaken by something that had happened recently. Had someone found him out? Anna, perhaps? And was Lady Sybil involved somehow? Or was it something else entirely? Mrs. Hughes could not work it out. After a week passed and Mr. Carson's mood had not improved, she made a resolution to find out the truth. She was ready to descend on him in his pantry with a tea tray one afternoon when he surprised her by inviting her to join him for a glass of sherry that night. _Even better,_ she thought. They were much more likely to be interrupted at tea time than they were over an evening sherry.

#####

"I'm sorry to be so late," Mr. Carson rumbled as he entered the housekeeper's sitting room with the sherry and glasses. "It's all right if you'd rather drink this another night."

"It's quite all right, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes assured him. "I'm just finishing up my work."

He poured two glasses and handed one to her before sitting down at her table. They sipped in silence for a minute or so and then Mrs. Hughes spoke gently.

"You haven't been quite yourself lately, Mr. Carson."

He stiffened a little and answered her a bit sharply. "Is that so?"

They were silent again, he regretting his tone and she wondering how to draw him out without provoking him to anger.

Mr. Carson cleared his throat. "Forgive me, Mrs. Hughes. I didn't intend to speak so. It's nothing to do with you."

"Then what is it?" she asked.

He tensed again, but kept his tone civil. "It's no one's concern but my own."

"I see." Mrs. Hughes sipped her sherry and tapped her feet on the floor in no particular rhythm.

Mr. Carson watched her carefully over the rim of his glass. "Hmmm."

She looked up. "What is it?"

"What are you up to, Mrs. Hughes?"

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "Up to?"

Mr. Carson smiled a little. "You never give up that easily. You must be up to something."

At this, Mrs. Hughes couldn't help laughing a little. "If you must know, I was thinking."

"About?"

"About how to get you to tell me what's troubling you."

"And have you come up with some clever plan?" he wanted to know.

She sighed and shook her head. "I'm afraid not."

Mr. Carson refilled his own sherry glass and silently offered Mrs. Hughes another, which she accepted.

"Won't you tell me, Mr. Carson?" she tried.

"I would rather not."

She sighed. "I'm sure it can't be _that_ bad, whatever it is."

Mr. Carson said nothing, but looked extremely uncomfortable, tugging at his waistcoat and clearing his throat. "Mrs. Hughes, I hope in the time we have known each other, I have earned your respect."

Mrs. Hughes wondered where this was going, but she answered readily, meeting his eye. "Certainly you have! I'm not sure if there's anyone I respect more."

He was still and silent for a few moments, caught by her expression. "I should like to keep it that way," he murmured.

"Mr. Carson, I can't imagine what you might be capable of that would lose you my respect. We're none of us perfect. We all make mistakes."

"Nothing like this," he replied.

"Have you been stealing candlesticks, then?" she asked him teasingly.

Mr. Carson grimaced. "Not candlesticks," he murmured. Mrs. Hughes was so surprised that she couldn't think of any reply. "Food."

"Well… I'm sure you had a good reason," she speculated, when she had found her voice.

He frowned. "A reason? Yes. But a good one? I don't know if I can be the judge of that."

Mrs. Hughes set her sherry glass on the table. She wished she could find some way to comfort him - he was clearly in distress. She repeated her earlier question in as gentle a voice as she could muster. "Will you tell me?"

Mr. Carson looked into her eyes and, seeing only sympathy and concern, he nodded. He didn't speak, however, as he wasn't quite sure how to begin. Seeing this, Mrs. Hughes got up from her chair and walked to her desk, opened the drawer, and took out the handbill she had taken from Anna. She handed it to him.

"You were a Cheerful Charlie, weren't you?" she prompted, sitting back down.

"I was." He was quiet for a little longer, tracing the letters on the paper with his finger. "For a few years, that is, until the other Charlie started stealing from the theatres. Then I left the stage and went into service."

"So what's happened to bring this all up again?" Mrs. Hughes wanted to know.

"The other Charlie turned up in Downton last week. He threatened to tell his lordship about my past if I didn't help him."

Understanding dawned on her. "So you took food from the house to feed him?"

Mr. Carson nodded. "He was on the run from the law and I put him in an empty cottage and fed him. But he wanted money, which I was not under any circumstances willing to give him. So he came to the house and demanded to see his lordship."

Mrs. Hughes gasped. "The cheeky devil!"

Mr. Carson couldn't help smiling a little at her reaction. He ought to have known that telling her the story wouldn't be as dreadful as he had feared. "Indeed. I'm only glad most of you were down at the pub that day so there weren't many witnesses to that little scene."

"What happened?"

"His lordship gave him twenty pounds and sent him packing, under threat of prosecution for theft and blackmail."

"That was well done of him."

"It was. Then he refused my resignation and that was that. The only other people present were Lady Sybil, Mr. Bates, and Anna, so I felt fairly safe." He set the handbill on the table. "Where did you get that?"

"I caught Anna coming out of Lady Sybil's room with it. I think she was trying to protect you by destroying it before someone else came across it."

Mr. Carson was surprised. "Protect me?"

"She must have known how little you would have liked for anyone else to find out."

"That was very kind of her," he murmured.

"But she acted rather guilty, so I made her hand it over to me. I'll throw it on the fire right now if you like."

He picked it up again and looked at it for a long moment before rising from his seat and approaching the fire. Mrs. Hughes moved to stand beside him. He dropped the handbill into the flames and they both stood watching it turn to ash.

"Thank you for your sympathy, Mrs. Hughes," he said. "You've been very kind."

"Your secret is safe with me, Mr. Carson," she replied.

They stood together looking into the fire for a little longer before separating for the night.

Mrs. Hughes lay awake for a little while, wondering what Mr. Carson might have been like when he was young and earning his bread by singing and dancing. Mr. Carson prepared for bed more slowly than usual, hardly believing he had confessed so much. Both of them knew, however, that their friendship had changed in some subtle way, as they stood together watching the fire. They neither moved nor spoke, but each felt great comfort in the other's presence. And both looked forward to the next day, when they would be side-by-side again, the same as always, but now somehow different.

 _The end._

 **Please leave a review if you can spare a few moments. I really appreciate your feedback. Have a great day!**


	2. Grigg at the Workhouse

**Here is my #unofficialdas7 entry. It would have been posted on Sunday, but my cat chewed up my laptop cable and I couldn't do it.**

 **This chapter tells of the last possible moment Mrs. Hughes could have found out about Mr. Carson's career as a performer. It is also the source of the line I used for the title of this collection - Mr. Grigg's revelation when he talks to Mrs. Hughes at the workhouse in 4x1.**

 _Theatre folk like us._ The man's words echoed in Mrs. Hughes's mind as she rode home from Ripon. _Theatre folk like us._ Visiting the workhouse had been an eye-opening experience, but almost as shocking as the living conditions was the phrase that Mr. Grigg had innocently let fall during their brief conversation. _Theatre folk like us._ Mrs. Hughes had wondered how Mr. Carson had ever become acquainted with this Grigg fellow and now she knew at least part of the story. She had wanted more than anything to stop the man's line of conversation and demand that he tell her all about the past life of the man she had known for so many years. It wasn't _terribly_ surprising that Mr. Carson had guarded this secret so jealously. Mrs. Hughes couldn't think of many men who would feel more humiliated than he would if such a story were made known to people whose respect was important to him. Her own reaction to Mr. Grigg's revelation had been a careful performance given to preserve Mr. Carson's peace - to a certain degree anyway. The wretched Mr. Grigg need not be made aware that Mrs. Hughes had not already known of Mr. Carson's past. She had an inkling that in spite of Mr. Grigg's willingness to believe his old pal would set aside their differences and help him, he might still make Mr. Carson's life difficult if the opportunity presented itself. Would he try to blackmail him from the workhouse? Surely that would be crossing a line, but one could never be too careful with new acquaintances when the well-being and peace of mind of one's friends might be at stake. Mrs. Hughes had smiled and spoken as though she already knew all about it, her face never betraying the slightest hint of the surprise and curiosity she was feeling.

Now that she was on her way home, she was trying to school herself in patience, preparing for his inevitable anger at her interference and the strong possibility that Mr. Grigg's brief reference to _theatre folk like us_ would be all she _ever_ learned about the part of Mr. Carson's past that he had somehow kept from her. Pushing him to tell her everything would really be the outside of enough, after the invasion of privacy she had already committed. She didn't feel she had truly done anything wrong, in the grand scheme of life. Her motives were pure, but finding out what had upset him had required her to use methods some might condemn. No, she would not press him now. She would merely hope that he chose to tell her the rest on his own, even if it took quite a long time.

Mrs. Hughes pulled Mr. Grigg's crumpled letter from her pocket and looked it over by the light of the moon. She came across a passage that she had not previously paid much attention to, but that made more sense now, given her new information. He had made some comment about 'the halls' and Mrs. Hughes had taken it to mean that the two men had attended some music hall performances together, but it now appeared that they had performed together. She could hardly believe that Mr. Carson had sung and danced in public, but it was clearly true.

Mrs. Hughes couldn't keep her fancy from taking flight. She thought of how Mr. Carson had looked when they had first met, so many years ago, and tried to envision him younger still. Her imagination dressed him in theatrical garb and placed him on a stage, where she heard him sing - something that bore little resemblance to what she heard from him at church every Sunday, except in the warm richness of his tone. Mrs. Hughes closed her eyes and allowed the sounds and images to fill her mind. The idea of a young and handsome Mr. Carson was a very pleasant one indeed. He sang a love song, gradually aging in her mind's eye until he reached the present day and he was singing the song _to her,_ in her sitting room. Such a thought brought her quickly out of her reverie. She wasn't sure she wanted to consider what might be the source of such fantastical images. She tried to banish these thoughts by reminding herself of the unpleasant conversation that she would soon have with Mr. Carson, and she was mostly successful.

The idea of not telling him about Mr. Grigg had crossed Mrs. Hughes's mind, but she had dismissed it immediately. He ought to know about it and she was not a coward. He would be angry that she had read his letter and, as it was clear that Mr. Grigg was not in Mr. Carson's good books, probably angry that she had gone to see that wretched man in the workhouse. There was no way around the conversation, however, and she anticipated one of the worst rows of their long acquaintance. There had never been a row yet that had threatened their friendship and Mrs. Hughes fervently hoped that this would not prove the exception. She had taken a risk, however, and was willing to pay the consequences. She chose simply to travel in hope, believing their friendship able to weather any storm, because even when they disagreed or made each other angry, the mutual respect they shared seemed unshakable. That respect was something she treasured more than anything in the world.

 _The end._

 **Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a review if you can spare a few moments.**


	3. The Spanish Flu

**In thinking about this prompt I've realized that there are a thousand little moments in which Mrs. Hughes might have found out about Mr. Carson's time on the stage. However, many of those moments would play out more or less the same. I decided just to write one story for each of the first four seasons. The first one I wrote was from season 1, the second from season 4, and this one from season 2. I'll finish with a story from season 3.**

Mrs. Hughes made her way quietly down the men's corridor toward Mr. Carson's room with a tea tray. She didn't know if he would be awake, but if he was, she hoped she could persuade him to drink something. She had left a glass and a pitcher of water on his bedside table the night before, but it was possible that he was in no condition to pour and drink it. She feared what she might find when she saw him. He'd been quite ill when she had all but dragged him to his room the previous afternoon and when she had checked on him just before she went to bed; he might be even worse now. Mrs. Hughes knocked softly on the door and was surprised to hear shuffling noises coming from inside. She immediately opened the door and entered the room. She wondered at the bed's being empty and was shocked when she looked to her left and saw Mr. Carson sitting on the floor in front of his wardrobe. One of its doors was open and a small box sat beside him on the floor.

"What on earth?!" Mrs. Hughes exclaimed, setting down the tea tray. "Mr. Carson, what are you doing out of bed? And on the floor?"

Mr. Carson would neither look at her nor speak. However, when she noticed his labored breathing, she realized that the time for questions was later. Now she needed to get him tucked back under his blankets.

"There now," she said gently. "Let's get you back in bed." She held out her hands to him and he took them. He was far too large for her to pull him up off the floor, but she kept him steady as he slowly got to his feet. He leaned heavily against her for the few steps it took him to reach his bed and fell unceremoniously in a heap on top of the disordered sheets. Mrs. Hughes helped him into a more comfortable position and stood watching him for a few moments. Then she picked up the box and sat down in a chair by his bed. She didn't ask him any questions, but simply waited for him to recover from his exertions. After a few moments, his breathing was more steady, though Mrs. Hughes did not like the sound of his lungs.

"I thought I could get it myself," he wheezed.

She shook her head, smiling slightly. "Mr. Carson, if you wanted this box, you only had to ask and I would have gotten it for you."

"I… I didn't want you to see what's in it."

Mrs. Hughes looked down at the box in her lap and wondered what secrets Mr. Carson could be hiding. However, she did the only thing she _could_ do, which was to set it on the bedside table where he could reach it. "You may open it in peace once I've gone," she told him.

"No," he contradicted. "Please don't go. That is, I would like you to stay, if you can spare the time."

Mrs. Hughes could hardly refuse him. He usually didn't like to have company when he was ill, and regardless of the situation, she would never turn down the opportunity to spend time with him and to take care of him. She nodded her agreement and settled into her seat. "Will you tell me why it was so important for you to get out of bed and get that box out?"

"I will," he rasped.

She took a closer look at Mr. Carson and shook her head. "No, you won't and I'm sorry I pressed you. You're very sick and need to rest. Let me fix you some tea." Mrs. Hughes turned to the tea tray and poured a cup.

Mr. Carson was too tired to argue and even allowed her to hold the cup to his lips as he drank. After finishing half of it, he waved it away. Mrs. Hughes sat still, waiting to see what he did next.

"The box," he whispered, gesturing to where it sat. She picked it up and held it out to him, but he pushed it back towards her until it came to rest on her lap. "Open it," he told her.

Mrs. Hughes hesitated, but did as he asked. She recognized immediately that it was a box of keepsakes - photographs, letters, and other mementos. She picked through a few things, but she wasn't sure what she was meant to be looking for, so she raised her eyes to his in search of guidance.

"There's a handbill," he said.

She set aside a few letters and came upon the handbill he must be talking about. She held it up and he nodded, encouraging her to read it.

"The Cheerful Charlies, the Lark and the Dove…"

"It's my shameful secret."

"What is?"

"I was a Cheerful Charlie," Mr. Carson murmured.

Mrs. Hughes was skeptical. "You? No, I know you are joking. Imagine you onstage, singing and dancing. I don't think I can!"

He grimaced. "I should be glad that you don't believe I could ever be involved in such a disreputable business, but I still find it very embarrassing."

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about, Mr. Carson. "You must have been very young."

"Not too young not to know what I was doing," he grumbled.

"Perhaps," she shrugged. "But there's something I don't quite understand."

"What's that?"

She paused and looked him straight in the eye. "Why tell me?"

He didn't answer right away, the only sound that broke the silence being his labored breathing. "I wanted to tell someone before I go," he admitted. "I want to tell _you_ before I go."

"What?" Her skin prickled.

"Mrs. Hughes, I know I'm very ill. I'll have to go sometime and this might very well be it."

"Don't be ridiculous, Mr. Carson. You're not going to die," she insisted.

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do," Mrs. Hughes got to her feet, ready in her agitation to argue with him. "You're not going to die because I say you're not going to die."

He looked up at her with serious eyes. "Now who's being ridiculous?"

Mrs. Hughes could think of no argument. She stood folding and unfolding the handbill for a few seconds before slowly taking her seat once more. She took a deep breath and spoke softly. "Thank you for your confidence, Mr. Carson. I'm honored that you chose to share this with me."

He smiled faintly, his eyelids drooping. "There's no one I'd rather confess my secrets to than you," he murmured.

Mrs. Hughes made no answer. She was slightly breathless and couldn't think of a thing to say. Fortunately, Mr. Carson didn't seem to expect any reply. In fact, it was less than a minute before he was fast asleep. She sat watching him for a long while. Finally, she got up to leave; work awaited her. She took the box of treasures from the table, returned the handbill to its place, and placed the box in the wardrobe. With one more glance at Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes left the room.

She was deep in thought for most of the day, almost unable to believe what she had learned of Mr. Carson's past. She also found herself questioning her own behavior. Had she made a fool of herself, insisting that he would not die? She wasn't sure what had prompted her agitation. The idea of losing Mr. Carson was unthinkable. Wasn't that reason enough for her to be upset? Mrs. Hughes could not answer the question, so she decided to move on. The only thing that she could truly focus on was the fact that she would be taking him a tray soon. She would see him again and care for him, which was really all she could do. It would have to be enough.

 _The end._

 **Please leave a review if you can spare a few moments. Thanks so much for reading!**


	4. You Won't Abandon Me

**Here's the last chapter of my (very late) contribution to #unofficialdas7, a season 3 speculation on another way Mrs. Hughes might have found out about her Cheerful Charlie. That ends this short collection, although there are probably hundreds of other moments when it could have happened. I hope you've enjoyed this!**

"I hope _you_ never need a favor from your fellow man," Mrs. Hughes said pertly.

"You can talk as tough as you like, but I know _you_ won't abandon me," Mr. Carson declared.

"Why doesn't that thought make you kinder?"

"Because I am who I am, Mrs. Hughes."

Mrs. Hughes shook her head and continued on her work with a little smile on her face. Mr. Carson could provoke her at times with his vociferous judgments, but this conversation had pleased her. He knew she would never abandon him. He must have taken to heart what she had said just the other day. She would not forget what he had said, and the thought kept her in good spirits in spite of their argument. She knew without a doubt that _he_ would never abandon _her,_ either.

" _I simply can't understand why you have continued to help Ethel," Mr. Carson blustered, standing behind his desk. "She's a fallen woman, in the worst way possible. You shouldn't even be in the same room with her!"_

 _"Haven't you ever made a mistake?" Mrs. Hughes demanded._

 _He was silent for a long moment and she thought she detected a slight blush on his cheek. "Certainly I have," he replied more quietly._

 _Mrs. Hughes was surprised at this admission. She wasn't sure why she had even asked the question, as she had expected an immediate denial from him. She looked at him curiously. "Have you?"_

 _His color rose again and he spoke sharply. "But nothing on this scale!"_

 _"Perhaps." She shrugged. "But what can you have done, Mr. Carson? I am surprised that the estimable butler of Downton Abbey has ever made an error of any kind." She tried to subdue her sarcasm, but wasn't very successful. She was curious, but still irritated by his behavior._

 _"It's no concern of yours," he returned._

 _Mrs. Hughes could not let go of this. She was persistent to a fault - one of her worst flaws - but she didn't seem to be able to stop herself from pestering him._

 _Mr. Carson knew this and tried to avoid her questions. "I'm very busy, Mrs. Hughes. I would appreciate it if you left me in peace."_

 _She stayed where she was. "What is it, Mr. Carson? Did you get yourself into debt?"_

 _He refused to answer. "Hmph."_

" _You're a very upright man, so I can't imagine you've done anything immoral."_

" _It depends on how you look at it." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He sighed in defeat and sat down at his desk._

 _Mrs. Hughes might have felt triumphant at having penetrated his defenses relatively quickly, but he looked so tired and forlorn that she was sorry for him. She sat down in the chair facing his desk and looked at him sympathetically. "I'm sure it isn't so very bad," she said gently. "Why don't you tell me about it?"_

" _I'm afraid your opinion of me would suffer," he said stiffly._

 _She shook her head. "Impossible. I know you quite well enough to know that you're not capable of anything truly despicable."_

 _He sighed. "Thank you for that, Mrs. Hughes."_

" _Please tell me," she murmured. "You'll feel better."_

 _He shrugged. "I doubt it."_

 _Mrs. Hughes didn't reply, simply sat in silence._

" _You're not going to let this go, are you?" he asked after a while._

" _No."_

 _He sighed again. "I was on the stage," he admitted quietly. "I sang and danced on the music hall stage."_

 _Mrs. Hughes was almost incredulous. "No, you're having me on."_

 _Mr. Carson's brow wrinkled. "I told you I'd shock you."_

 _She smiled. "Well, I'll admit I'm a little surprised! But why should I think less of you for it?"_

 _He raised an eyebrow. "Don't pretend you don't know that it's not a respectable profession."_

" _And what if it's not? We've all done some foolish things when we were young."_

" _Do you mean it, Mrs. Hughes?"_

 _She tilted her head and gave him a little smile. "What do you think?"_

 _Mr. Carson cleared his throat. "Thank you," he murmured._

" _Why should you think your profession was an immoral one?" she wondered._

" _My parents were shocked and angry at me. I wasn't honoring my father and mother. That's one of the Ten Commandments."_

 _Mrs. Hughes nodded. "I see."_

" _Do you?"_

" _I think I do," she answered. "But I'm not your father or mother. And I don't find it so very shocking."_

 _Mr. Carson seemed finally to take her at her word and he relaxed a bit. "Well, you've surprised me, Mrs. Hughes. But I thank you."_

" _You're welcome," she said softly. "I hope you know that I've always held you in high esteem, Mr. Carson. And I always will."_

" _Not always," he pointed out. "Not when I vex you so often."_

 _She waved her hand dismissively. "Even when you vex me, I respect you." She took a deep breath and spoke very softly. "You're my friend and I care about you."_

 _Mr. Carson stumbled over his words. "You… I… if…"_

 _Mrs. Hughes laughed. "You don't have to say anything."_

" _I do," he replied. "I… feel the same about you. You're…" He searched for the right words. "You are… dear to me."_

 _It was her turn to be flustered. "Thank you. Mr. Carson, I…. Thank you."_

 _He nodded an acknowledgment of her thanks and smiled. She smiled in return and they sat together for a while in silence. It was good to have a friend and even better to be certain of it._

The end.


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